Anthology
by CulturalMishap
Summary: A collection of drabbles. Ratings will vary.
1. Entry One: Bread Rolls

**Bread Rolls**

The first of my drabble collection. I dunno how many of these I'll be doing, but they're definitely a good way to get the brain working. They'll all be incredibly short like this I bet.

This one is just something I put together in like... ten, fifteen minutes? I have a few other ideas in my head, but I can't really find the right words to put down into a drabble. Ho-hum. I'll figure it out eventually.

* * *

Kumo leaned against the counter, eyes up at the ceiling.

"You excited to go to college?"

She turned and looked at the seated Sora, his dark hands laced together, propped under his chin. He peered at her through the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, I guess." She plopped down on the stool next to him. It was only a few more weeks until Kumo would begin attending the university, studying to become a pediatrician. Sure, she was one step closer to becoming her dream profession, but the idea of it being so close almost frightened her.

He grabbed a bun out of the plastic bag before him and held it out to Kumo. She eagerly took it and bit into it. "You guess?"

She chewed thoughtfully, "Mmhmm… It'll be tough, but I think I can handle it." She knew she'd get over her anxiety at some point.

"I know you can. You're strong and smart."

Kumo leaned to her right, pressing her lips against Sora's cheek. She sat back and took another bite of her roll.

He turned, a blush swept over his tan cheek like a painter's brush stroke. "What was that for?"

She smiled, "Because I love my bread roll."


	2. Entry Two: Fairy Tale

**Fairy Tale**

I had fun with this one. I never really focus too much on this character's childhood. I think it was a happy one for the most part. Heh heh... It's so cute. lol

* * *

Warm arms wrapped around a small child. It was nine o'clock and time for the little girl to close her eyes and drift into a gentle slumber. She sat on her mother's lap. A large picture book was held in front of her, the pages decorated in bright greens, pinks, and yellows. As her mother's soothing voice read out the lines, the child traced her fingers along the pictures.

Here was the beautiful princess, her long golden hair in ringlets, her blue dress sparkling. The prince was dressed in deep reds and silver, his face strong and handsome. The story was typical. The prince and princess meet at a party. They fall madly in love with each other. So on, so forth.

The girl nestled into her mother. Her pink lips parted in a yawn and her hands balled into tiny fists. She rubbed them against her eyelids. The mother stroked her daughter's auburn hair.

"Do you want me to stop? We can finish tomorrow." She cooed.

She shook her head, "No, I'm alright. I want to hear the ending." The child looked up at her mother with her dirty-amber eyes. They were bright like only a child's could be.

"But we've read this one before. Are you sure?"

She nodded then turned back to the book.

And so the mother continued, her voice telling of how the princess was captured and taken off to a faraway kingdom. The prince daringly raced off to save her. Along his way he had to defeat a dragon, protecting the gates of the tower the princess had been locked in. He easily made it past this obstacle and rescued his princess. The two of them were wed. And they all lived happily ever after.

The mother kissed her daughter's forehead, placed the book on the nightstand, and tucked the girl into bed. "Goodnight, sweetie."

"'Night mom." She pretended to close her eyes as her mother flicked off the light and shut the door. As soon as she knew her mother was out of earshot, she climbed out of bed. Her fingers reached to turn her lamp on. She grabbed the book and flipped the pages.

The dragon soon sat before her. She sat on the floor staring at it. She beamed. The book was closed and she climbed back into bed after turning the light back off. She held the book close to her chest and soon drifted off to sleep. For some odd reason, the prince and princess had never really mattered to her, but the dragon had always interested her.


	3. Entry Three: Summer Rains

**Summer Rains**

I really like this one. I'm not gonna lie. I like picturing Ame in a relaxed, sort of naturalistic personality. I might have gotten a little repetetive in this, but I still like the way it sounds. Apollo makes a brief appearance. I think he must have been running errands or something. (lol;;;;)

* * *

The rain drizzled down the foggy window pane. Ame set his back against the blue walls of his bedroom and gazed at the falling water. For each drop, he felt himself coming alive. The way it beat a steady rhythm made his heart race. Typically, rain would induce people in to sleeping, or other lazy activities. He heaved himself up and over to the window. He fumbled with the lock, but managed to fling the window open.

He held out a warm hand, the drops cool and gentle each time as they would tap his palm. Ame swung one leg out, then the other, and then he pulled his body out the small opening. He stood unsteadily on the roof, trying not to slip on the slick surface. Smiling, he held his arms out wide. The rain danced against his body, sliding down his chin to his collarbone. The pendant around his neck hung heavily, rising up and down with the slow breathing of its wearer.

A young looking boy ran quickly down the street, his dark hair sticking to his cheeks. Ame chuckled to himself. While others tried to flee the rain, he happily welcomed it. The boy sped past Ame's house, each step kicking up a spray of water. Ame sat down and watched the boy sprint by. He lifted an eyebrow when he saw midnight blue wings protruding from the boy's back, but shrugged it off. He'd seen weirder. Around the corner he went and was gone. Ame tipped his head back, letting the rain land gracefully against his eyelids. Maybe he'd meet that boy someday, maybe not.

He was like the rain; fleeting. He would leave a lasting impression if only for a moment. But he was happy that way. He would be forgotten for a while, but would always come back. And he knew that somewhere, there was another person that loved the rain just as much as he did.


	4. Entry Four: Beloved One

**Beloved One**

Oh man. I really like this one. Yuki's such a good guy. *buys band merchandise* Songfic for the win, obviously. "Itoshii Hito (Beta de Suman)" by Miyavi. The song does NOT belong to me. The almighty Miyavi is the the song God that wrote it, performed it, etc. So yeah. Not mine. But Yuki's mine! Well... Fi's. But I made him! *shot*

* * *

Worn fingers plucked at the wire strings, monotonously transitioning from the fret board to the tuners. Heavy strumming had left tiny scars along the length of the musician's fingertips. He sighed. Another day in the studio. Another day of strenuous vocalizing. Another day he'd be without her.

_Beloved one...Don't cry, show me your smile_

_If I wanted to see your tears, I wouldn't have said 'I like you', would I?_

The other two members of his band plugged in amplifiers and tested their instruments to see if they were in decent working condition. Yuki, lead guitarist and vocalist sat down on the polished wood stool in front of the microphone. He looked out beyond to glass. His manager, along with the label producer stood eagerly watching.

_Beloved one... It's okay, you're not alone_

_Because when you're feeling lonely, I'll feel lonely too_

He reached into his pocket, his fingers lightly touching the smooth plastic of his cell phone. It had gone without use for some time now. Days of hard work had left him little a moment for phone calls. A face flashed in his mind. His heart throbbed momentarily as he recalled her long, brown hair and piercing green eyes. A sense of being alone, though surrounded by his two best friends overwhelmed him. He breathed out slowly.

_Beloved one...Don't open your closed eyes_

_That way... that way... you can't sleep._

Yuki watched for his signal. His fingers twitched just inches away from the guitar's strings. Then came the sign.

_Beloved one..._

Slowly the song began. It had been one he'd sung over and over; quite possibly his favorite. Written one day for himself, finished and reworded for another. He thumbed methodically over the wires, each one producing a solid note. He murmured into the microphone the quiet lyrics.

_Not 'For you I would die' but 'For you I live'_

_Of course, we'll be together_

_Before this, before that..._

The lyrics grew louder. The drums came in, beating out a steady rhythm to match the one created by the guitar. Yuki felt the music take control of him; the words came tumbling past his lips. He visualized who this song was for. He closed his eyes, forgetting the people staring out at him from behind soundproofed glass. The climax of the song left him calling out words he only wished he had the courage to speak in normal conversation.

_If you love yourself more, can I have a part of that excess love?_

_Beloved, beloved one..._

Yuki missed her. He missed the way she would pick on him, the way she always seemed so strong, and the way that she would smile at him. His armed pounded against the guitar, the vibration bouncing through his nerves all the way up his arm. He imagined she was there with him, sitting next to him, listening, humming along.

_Even if we are reincarnated_

_I will still be 'this' me and you will still be 'that' you_

_And then, I will say the same words again_

_Always, always…_

He wondered what she was doing right now; if she was angry with him for not calling more often. He'd get a copy of the album out to her before anyone else. That he promised himself. The dynamics in the room fell from its fortissimo into a mezzo piano. The thick strumming returned to a delicate plucking. For some reason, the final chord felt bitter sweet.

_Beloved one...Please open your eyes slowly_

_Isn't it the same as always?_

_It's fine just like this._

Yuki sat his guitar down against the leg of the stool. He stood himself up, shaking his fingers, taking a drink from his water bottle and walked out of the booth, briefly speaking to his manager, graciously receiving words of praise. He nodded politely at the producer and moved outside where he brought out his phone. It beeped as his thumb flew over the keypad. A smile played across his face as he held the phone up to his ear. The line rung for what felt like an eternity. A familiar voice answered, "Hello?"


	5. Entry Five: January 14th

A/N: Just a quick little insight on one of my character's past. I'm working on it, and... wow, depressing much?

* * *

January 14th

"Sophie, don't you remember anything, even the smallest thing about your past?"

"Nope…"

"Do you even know if Sophie is your real name?"

"Huh-uh…"

"Oh, Sophie…" Ester reached out a placed her hand softly atop the vampire's head. These questions were asked day after day, and still the girl could never remember a single thing about what happened before she was transformed into a vampire. Ester wondered if Sophie was sad about this. Her façade never seemed to express anything along those lines, but with Sophie, you never knew.

Black hair with white tips, cold teal eyes, and skin as freezing as ice. The little vampire stared at herself in her vanity's mirror. She closed her eyes and sighed, "Ester, I'm feeling hungry, so please get out."

"You know I'm just trying to help, sweetie…" Ester lowered her gaze and took a step from out of the room, "Just know that you can trust me with anything."

"Of course."

As Ester solemnly left the room, Sophie glanced at the calendar hanging by her bedside. Her small hand picked up an ivory hairbrush that lay before her. As she combed out a few tangles from her curled hair, a tune suddenly came to mind.

First humming, and then softly singing, Sophie did not know what lyrics were passing over her lips. And she would never have guessed that this would be the beginning of the end of her amnesia.

"Happy birthday to you…"


	6. Entry Six: Gunmetal

A short assignment for my creative writing class this last school year. We were given about five words for the starting sentence, then had to create a one page (no more) story about the starter we chose.

* * *

**Gunmetal**

The gun was cold and heavy as she lifted it from the jockey box. Her hand shook as she pointed it at the man who had abducted her. Seika's husband kept a gun in her car for her protection. She never thought she would have to use it. Her abductor's cold eyes widened as he turned to face her. Seika furrowed her brow, her finger curled on the trigger.

"Let me go and no one will get hurt." She demanded. Those words sounded cliché, but Seika was just as terrified to kill someone as she was of being killed herself.

With one free hand she reached for the door handle. Her captor's glare was filled with ferocity. He lunged at her. The door swung open and she tumbled out. Amidst her flailing, the gun fired once and rang in her ears. A bullet hole steamed in the car's roof. The man clutched his hand, red trickling from between his fingertips.

Seika scrambled to get on her feet, the gun still in her hand. The man's pained moans were all she could hear. Her body reflexively began to run. Never had she been so thankful for being athletic in high school.


	7. Entry Seven: A Stone Throne

Another short assignment for my class. This one could only be a total of two pages long. I hated all the restrictions, but yet I love a challenge.

* * *

**A Stone Throne**

The air is filled with the scent of pine and damp earth. Rain had been falling the night before and the sky is still a hazy gray. Dark trees stand tall and mighty above a tangle of deciduous undergrowth, carpeting whatever unknown soil lay beneath. Emerald pine trees, bushy and festive, litter the area, adding to the abstractness of the foliage layout. The leaves of the plant-life are turning into marvelous shades if gold, ruby, and russet, their youthful green still appearing in patches. It is not hard to image what this place would look like in the fullness of summer, the land vivid in splashes of beryl and jade.

Mist is on the horizon. Slowly creeping away to reveal even more aged landscape. The wind whispers along this woodsy place, sending the grass rippling and the boney branches of tiny trees waving, wishing the wind a safe journey as it treks farther and farther away. A few leaves shuffle as they brush against the pant legs of a man who appears to be as tall as the trees. He walks along a deer trail he has carved over the years. This is his place of solace and remembrance. Just beneath one of the dark trees is the slate colored stone he often sits upon when he needs to get away from his wife and children (that's not to say that he doesn't enjoy his quaint, chaotic life) to think in silence.

With a prideful gait, he canters up to the stone and kneels down to touch it. A few drops of water wipe off at the contact. Its coarseness matches the feel of the skin of his large hands. It has been weeks since he has been here to his stone throne. He sloughs off his jacket and places it over the rock, then seats himself atop of it.

"This is my throne now," he thinks to himself. "I've had so many in my lifetime. One of ebony, one of gold." His internal voice grows soft, "One of leather, and now one of stone."

Memories flood his mind. His entire life plays back to him. Here is the memory of his childhood. Here is his brother; may his soul rest in peace. In a flash he sees his escapades around the globe, and in another flash is his escape from his life of luxury. The reels turning within the projector of his mind slow. There is the blonde haired, chestnut eyed girl that he would eventually call his wife.

He sits and sifts through these fond memories till he grows closer and closer to the present time. Working, marriage, love, family, and children. They all fill his mind. Before he can reach the most recent memory, a ringing fills the still air. It is his cell phone. He sighs a bit and reaches into his back pocket and pulls the tiny device out. With the speaker at his ear he answers with a smooth, "Yes, Dear?"

"Beni," his wife chimes his pet name, short for Benedict, "Henry says he wants you to help him and Bernadette with a project when you get home. So hurry back."

He smiles as he replies to her, "Alright. I'll be home soon." He shuts his phone and places it back into his pocket. He stands and treks back through the autumn palette of shrubbery. This place will lay in wait for him again. No matter how long it will be before the king takes his throne once more.


End file.
